First Date
by FoxFace Zero
Summary: Sometimes there need not be a second...  Ian/Amy


A/N: Yup, back and I have another AU story. Although, for all I know, this may actually be canon. I confess, I haven't actually read books 8-10. But this premise got stuck in my head a long time ago and never relented, so here we are... with a plot that I know sounds heavy on the corn, but believe it or not ISN'T fluff.

...

Ian was bored.

Painfully so.

And no, it was not entirely the fault of the woman sitting across the table lecturing on the importance of one heroic cause or another that they should support. As she always did whenever she introduced another item to their agenda.

Sure, it helped that she wasn't hard on the eyes. Pretty copper-coloured hair that hung about her shoulders and sharp, intelligent green eyes made her nice to look at when he was bored out of his mind off the tripe that was coming out of her mouth. In some ways, Amy Cahill hadn't changed at all.

"... Now, I know this will all mean a significant sacrifice on all of your parts, but given the current state of affairs..."

Alas, this mess was not entirely her fault. No, there were other contenders that were aspiring to ruin his Saturday afternoon with this pointless and brain-melting drivel. One being his mother. She had whined about this for ages, insisting that he needed 'leadership experience,' which was code for 'I-spit-on-this-pathetic-excuse-for-a-council-and-refuse-to-attend-but-will-not-suffer-the-humiliation-of-being-the-first-branch-to-leave-it.' And the solution was, inevitably, to send Ian in her place.

Bloody bitch.

"...I cannot stress enough the immediacy with which we need to—"

"Hey," he heard a whisper to his left. He turned his head with a bored gaze to see Madison Holt sneaking him a furtive glance from beneath her heavy bangs. Lord knows she probably needed them to hide that abnormally large forehead of hers. Pity she could do no such thing for that nose... He raised an eyebrow at her in acknowledgement as Amy continued to drone on.

"You busy after this?" Madison asked him with what she must have supposed was a flirty smirk.

_Not likely, you overgrown, ugly twat_. He managed a weak smile in return and a nod of the head, infinitely glad that he actually had something to do beyond this minor nuisance of a meeting. Cumbersome and agonizing as it no doubt would be, it was at least an excuse to avoid having to not-so-politely tell her to bugger off.

The Holt girl was getting to be quite insufferable now that she'd taken it into her head to fancy him. It made him shudder in horror at the very thought. But, pathetic and degrading at it was, he needed her to keep on believing that she had a chance with him, mostly because of the alarming influence she had over her father—the now head of the Holt branch. Why they'd elected Eisenhower, who couldn't find his own arse with both hands, he hadn't the faintest idea, but was only too happy to exploit it. If it gave Ian more control over this bloody rag of a council, he'd at least be able to shove it in Natalie's face that he'd done more than sitting on the couch all bloody day wallowing over the fact that they'd lost the damn race.

"How about tomorrow?" Madison pestered further, earning her a sharp glare from Amy who paused in her speech.

_Oh, take a frigging hint_. Again he shook his head apologetically—aiming more for diplomacy than actual sincerity. Eisenhower, who sat to her left shot him a look and it was only when he turned back to their speaker that Ian realized she was glowering at him too. And it wasn't even his ruddy fault.

"... As I was saying, we must vote on the matter." Amy said, the scornful look yet to leave her eye.

"Agreed," Alastair Oh, who was the Ekaterina representative, replied, casting a wary look at the other members of the council.

Usually there were five of them: one from each branch plus Amy who represented the Madrigals by some illogical selection. Ian supposed it was probably more of her altruistic bull about helping the disenfranchised and the misunderstood that drove her to do it, but really, all Madrigals were right tossers anyway, so even that was hard to believe. Today there were six council members since Eisenhower had brought Madison along, presumably so that she could make doe eyes at him or something equally brainless. All her presence did was push the limits of his sanity and fulfill his quota of forced friendly behaviour for the day. And apparently get him into trouble with Her Holiness.

"Are there any objections?"

The room was silent, although Amy's gaze and a few others seemed to gravitate towards Ian. Not through any particular desire to look at him—although perhaps on some deeply repressed level, she might have fancied him—but because he was the usual voice of dissent against most of her plans. He sighed inwardly, wishing more to just pass this ridiculous legislation and get the next part of his plan over with than to sit around debating bugger all for God knows how long.

"You're asking too much," he told her in a bored drawl.

Her jaw set, but he could tell she was a little bit flustered by him, "T-To ensure the welfare of h-hundreds of people? That's n-not worth the pittance I ask?"

"Sure it is," Ian agreed flippantly, "If you yourself are willing to supply fifty percent of it. The other four legitimate branches can supply the rest. Then we're fair."

Outrage swam across her features, "H-How is that—?"

"Your project, your money," he interrupted, "We're not a charity council. We're a coalition designed to prevent branches from tearing one another apart."

"And we can't c-compensate the victims of massacres we fail to prevent?" she spat at him, her face flushing a violent shade of red.

He rolled his eyes, "Look, if it were that bloody simple, I'd say fine. Have at it. But they're _gang_ wars. Just because the damn Ekats decided to back some group of nutjobs in the Tomas's Balkan territory doesn't mean the Lucians should give a toss about who they killed."

"But you just admitted that it was b-between two branches—!"

"Yes, fine, it was. Give them both a slap on the wrist. But how is this _my_ problem?"

"You're part of this council! That makes it your problem!"

"It's also my money. I vote no." Ian said with a lazy shrug, "Let the Ekats and Tomas work it out."

"I vote no as well," Eisenhower said solemnly, with a nod towards Ian. He tried to ignore the admiring look that Madison sent him, but it still made his skin crawl.

"It's a little early to be voting—" Alastair Oh tried to object, but was cut off promptly by Cora Wizard's voice.

"I also vote not to support this _charity effort_," She interrupted, saying 'charity effort' the way that anyone else would say 'gonorrhoea' and watching as Amy's face fell at her decision. In truth, Ian felt a little bit bad for Amy. A small bit, that was. She was laughably out of her league here, tossed in with sharks before she'd even learned to take the water wings off. Alastair ought to have known better before he'd elected her to take on the position of representing the Madrigals. But then he'd always been a bit of a wanker when it came to considering just about anyone else. Not that Ian was really one to judge, but—

"Hang on, I...—" Amy's face was flushed again, the way it usually got whenever she was clinging on to a hopeless argument that hung entirely too much on the good will of other people.

"It's out-voted, I move to adjourn for today." He said with a smarmy look aimed at her, "All in favour?"

"No! Stop that! This isn't over yet! You can't—"

"—Seconded." Eisenhower said with a thunderous sigh and a muttered: "And about time too."

"My vote as well," Cora said rising from her seat at Ian's right side and swinging her fur coat up around her shoulders and fastening the button below her chin. Her dark blue eyes caught Ian's for the briefest of moments before she snatched up her purse. He returned it, somewhat distrustfully. There were reasons he'd been raised not to trust a Janus. They were too fickle and often difficult to predict, choosing to align themselves with one side one day and another the next. Today was just one example of that.

"Wait! This matter isn't done yet! I feel we should a-at least hear from each of the representatives on why they're ch-choosing to vote." Amy said, in her usually deterministic manner.

"I agree with the boy—" Cora said with a nod.

"Me too." Eisenhower added.

"He's not a boy," Ian corrected, bristling somewhat. He wasn't even the youngest one here, but still, the three other _legitimate_ branches liked to look down their noses at him. And Amy to some degree, but that was deserved since she was a Madrigal and they were beneath the rest of them.

"Wait! We haven't even discussed—!"

"Too bad! Council's over, _Madrigal_," was Madison's smarmy and inappropriate comment, hissed at Amy through her massive overbite. She received a sharp look from her father, which she missed completely as her attention was once again riveted on Ian—much to his chagrin.

Amy's eyes narrowed at the girl, but it was Alistair Oh who rushed to her rescue.

"Eisenhower, would you mind keeping her _restrained_ for the next session?" The Ekat remarked blithely, seeming to have given up on holding the council together for the day, "Or at least muzzled?"

The Holts' faces purpled, and Madison opened her mouth to screech back a retort, but Eisenhower, who seemed to have some sense of decorum, laid a hand on her shoulder to silence her, although he continued to glare at Alistair.

"Watch what you say," he growled in warning to the Ekat, before leading himself and Madison out of the conference room.

It left only the Korean, Amy and Ian in the chamber, the two former seemingly having forgotten the latter. The girl shook her head and, after a moment of silent contemplation, began sliding her papers together into a pile. Her head was bowed forward, her red hair shielded her face from Ian's view, but he could guess she was probably fighting back tears of frustration. For a brief moment, he felt sorry for her, but the feeling was so brief and fleeting that it never occurred to him to feel guilty for the role he'd played in tearing her idea to pieces.

"I suppose we can always try again next time," Alistair offered, breaking the quiet with his stiff, formal English.

"You expect the result to be any different?" she asked him, pushing her hair away from her face as Ian watched with interest. Inexplicable though it was, he had a strange fascination with her hair (perhaps it was the colour). He nearly missed the rueful smile that graced her features. "Isn't that the definition of madness?"

"This council itself is madness," the Ekat replied lightly.

"Oh not you too," Amy chastised him, "Come on! This is working. The point is to get them talking. And maybe we can't win _every_ battle, but... it's still progress."

He chuckled, "I meant it as a compliment. All splendid ideas today were at one point considered mad, my dear."

She blushed, "Oh... well, thanks then. It's just a relief not_ everyone_ is trying to undermine wh-what I'm doing here."

This was said with a sharp look sent in Ian's direction, which he took with a grin. Alistair was as well glaring at him, as though he ought not to be here anymore. But rather than making him uncomfortable, this made Ian stretch out his legs and recline even further in his chair and clasp his hands behind his neck.

"I hate to break up this nauseatingly wholesome support group you have going, but I need to speak with the Madrigal." He drawled loudly, before adding pointedly to Alistair, "Alone."

The girl in question scoffed, "Unless you're going to apologize for the little stunt you just pulled, you can forget it."

"Not exactly what I had in mind, no," He replied, then seeing Amy ignore him and began shoving her papers into her tote bag, he piped up, "It does involve that war orphan fund you were blithering about though..."

Her hands stopped moving and her eyes narrowed at him. A similar mistrustful look had crossed Alistair's face too, although he probably didn't harbour nearly as much animosity against Ian. The two allies exchanged a wordless glance before Amy straightened up

'They're v-victims in general; not just o-orphans," she corrected him, sounding extremely sceptical.

"Whatever."

She was fuming at him, her face having gone a fiery shade of red. It was probably the first sign that he'd pushed her too far, but Ian wasn't terribly adept at noticing these things. With more force than necessary, she zipped her bag closed and hoisted it onto her shoulder.

"You're s-sick! People are suffering you-you have the ... _audacity_ to joke about that?" Amy cried at him, letting a pause hang in the air. "Grow up."

She motioned to Alistair to leave with her, but Ian was already on his feet, "Yeah, you're right," he conceded with dripping sarcasm, "I really should. What was I _thinking_ volunteering to cover halfof this little charitable donation?"

He found the look of shock on both of their faces absolutely priceless. Alistair's grey eyebrows looked as though they might recede into his hairline and Amy's mouth had fallen open a little.

"Y-you're...?" Amy tried to find the words but faltered.

"You could not have mentioned this during the meeting?" the Korean inquired, surprisingly with little judgment in his voice. However, the eyebrows were now furrowed in suspicion and he truly did not seem impressed.

"I need some kind of leverage," he answered the man calmly and collectedly, before turning to the meek girl with a slow, suggestive smirk, "For what I have in mind, that is..."

"See here! That's quite enough of that—!" Alistair Oh tried to object to Ian's tone, getting as far as placing himself between the two of them, but, much to everyone's surprise, Amy held him off by placing a hand on his arm.

"Wh-what do you mean?" She asked him with such innocence emanating from her that Ian just about cringed. She really knew how to make him feel like a dirty old man. How was it possible, he wondered, that she'd made it to twenty-three looking as she did, with that childish naiveté?

"Tell your guard dog to piss off for the night and you'll find out," Ian replied, reeling in the sleaziness a little. He could still feel the Ekat glowering from where he stood, but chose not to acknowledge it.

Amy hesitated for but a moment, the look on her face filled with mistrust, but finally, she turned to Alistair at last with a short nod, telling him to go on without her. This launched a chorus of protests.

"I really must advise against this! You are aware you cannot trust a word that comes from his mouth?" he cried, his small eyes desperately searching her face for some trace of sensibility or doubt.

"It's okay," she assured him with a soothing smile, "I won't make any outrageous deal without consulting you."

"Even still—"

"She's a big girl now," Ian added, failing to keep the triumphant look off his face, "Has her own briefcase and everything. Probably time to cut the cord."

This was returned with a pair of unfriendly looks before Alistair finally conceded, albeit with much reluctance. Reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, he pulled out a business card and hastily scribbled down a phone number before handing it to her. His voice was strained as he spoke, the worry alarmingly evident.

"Call me at my hotel tonight. Just let me know you're safe." He instructed, glaring more at Ian as he spoke to Amy "And what this deal involves. You will not keep me in the dark."

She shook her head and thanked him, smiling benignly as he left. For his part, Alistair continued to scowl at Ian as he left the two of them alone in the conference room. And Ian just smirked, winking at the man and taking pleasure in watching him pale a little, before turning his attention back to Amy, who had become much less amenable than she had been a minute ago.

"What do you want?" she snapped at him, her jade eyes as hard as stone as she crossed her arms over her chest. Her chin was pushed forward, giving her the air of someone not to be trifled with.

"So many things...—"

"You know what I mean; for half of the war effort contribution. Name your price and stop wasting my time."

"Ah for that. Merely the pleasure of your company." He answered, trying his hardest to act innocent and avoid any indication that he meant anything other than what he said. He was sure never to let his eyes waver from her gaze or show any other sign of guilt, "For one evening."

"_The pleasure of my company_?" she repeated, a note of disgust entering her voice as she shot a dirty look at him. Apparently she did catch onto subtext every now and then, "Y-You're... revolting! I-I-... If you think, I-I'd ever—!"

She trailed off with a high, indignant noise as she hastily averted her eyes from him out of embarrassment or anger. It was just as well, Ian thought, her stutter had gotten so bad that it was hard enough to understand what she was saying. All the same, she needed to be knocked off that high-horse of hers where she and all of her preachy morals resided, and Ian was more than happy enough to do that.

"Really?" he sneered at her, "I'm so revolting—as you put it—that even _saving orphans_ isn't worth enduring a single dinner with me?"

Amy refused to even look at him for more than a second at a time, positively seething in fury, but he could tell she was considering it. Her jaw was set and her eyes kept flickering to his as she stood there in silence. Finally, she opened her mouth.

"You're d-despicable!" she hurled at him, "You and your sick little games! You think I would j-just wh-whore myself out—?"

"Oh, you and your assumptions," he cut her off raising his voice over hers, yet still managing to sound condescending. "I said _dinner_; nothing about dropping your knickers for me—although, you're more than welcome to it, if you like."

She made a face at him as though he'd asked her to swallow wet concrete, "I-I...th- that's... all? D-Dinner?"

"Yes, 'd-dinner'," he replied mockingly, "Dinner with me in exchange for a quarter of a million pounds. Trust me, I've had cheaper—not to mention prettier and less irritating—dates before, but desperate times call for desperate measures."

Her brow was furrowed as he finished speaking and, although she didn't seem at all offended by his appraisal of her, she did look suspicious and guarded. Setting down her bag into a chair slowly, Amy fixed him with a judging stare.

"What desperate times?" she asked finally, the confusion in her voice beginning to undermine her intelligence. A greater man might have conceded to lay the cards on the table and fill her in on what she was so sorely missing, but Ian was far from such an ideal.

"Are you ready to find out?"

...

A/N: After coming to the realization that I must have dropped acid when I wrote the first draft (as there can be no other explanation for such awful writing), I am now rewriting the final chapter of Morbid Curiosity. On it's way.


End file.
